Elaine
by Noel Bailey
Summary: Elaine is inspired by death and sorrow to become a nurse during ww2. She doesn't realize how much her patients will change her. one shot


Baleigh Jordan

P2

A Nurse's War

The walls were grey and brooding. They gave off a sense of sadness with every rust colored stain they held. Cots lined the walls. The cots held broken men, men with broken bodies or broken souls. The air smelled of death. The smell was of sweat, blood, and desperation. A few small and plain light fixtures hung upon the ceiling giving off a dim and dull light. There was only one window in the whole hospital. It was about ten inches long and eight inches wide. I didn't ever let myself look out that window, for I was too afraid of what I might see. I hadn't seen the sun since I had been home in Virginia. But of course this drafty wasn't even close to home. Though it wasn't like home it would have to do for the next nine months.

I knew I was destined to be a nurse the day my younger brother was drafted into service. He had only just turned eighteen. It was just days after the first anniversary of Pearl Harbor. We had only gotten two pieces of mail that day. One letter was from Aunt Darla. The other letter was addressed to George, my brother. Daddy read the letter from Aunt Darla out loud at the dinner table for all of us to hear. Suddenly daddy stopped reading, and started to sob into his hand.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" I asked moving to my father's side and gently patting him on the back. I picked up the letter when he didn't answer. Cousin Earl had died in battle. I willed my tears to go back into my eyes. I always hated crying. Crying had always made me feel fragile and vulnerable. I hated feeling that way. I looked at my mother and brother who hadn't caught on yet.

"Earl was killed." I said trying to keep my voice from faltering. George left the table and ran for his room. Earl and him were only a sixteen months apart. They had been two peas in a pod growing up. Earl was the big brother George never had. It was only a few minutes later when my brother emerged from his room, clutching his letter to his heart.

"I've been drafted." He said softly, his voice just loud enough for us to hear. And like that I gave up. Silent tears gushed down my face. To my right my mother was wailing.

"Not my baby. They can't take my baby away from me!" She held my brother in her arms. His face remained white and blank. He was saving his emotions for later tonight when he was alone. He didn't want to be seen crying. At that moment I had decided I would be a nurse. Times like these always reminded me of being a girl. I wish I were a man so I could be a soldier in my brother's place. But this wasn't like the time I couldn't be on the boy's football team. This was war. This was blood, death, survival.

After my brother was long gone I began nursing school in 1943. My parents couldn't afford the tuition, so I was relived when the government started to send us girls to nursing school for free. I prayed when I joined the army I would end up in Europe with my brother. But they had sent me to Guam. Being in a different country was like being in a different world. This was a scarier, dirtier, dangerous world. The plane ride to the hospital wasn't luxurious or at all comfortable. The plane was drafty and damp. I jumped with every bump and turn. I distracted myself with thinking about home. I thought about my childhood, my friends, my family, and especially my brother. George was all alone. He was so young. He was so scared. I remembered how George's lip shook as he tried to give mom a reassuring smile. I remember holding his hand for the last time and kissing his cheek. He was more of a man than I had ever given him credit for.

My first weeks working at the hospital were my worst. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I could handle anything. I was wrong. I hadn't thought that the men would get to me. I thought I could be careless as I usually was about people and there feelings. That first week turned me into the sensitive girl I had never let my self be as a child. Being a twenty one year old girl I didn't have a clue. I can remember every single man I treated in that hospital. None of them could ever be forgotten, for I loved them all. I didn't even think my heart was big enough for all of these men to fit in. But without them I would never be the woman I am today.

And of course there was Joey. Joey had blonde hair, blue eyes, and smart mouth that should be illegal. He always made me red with anger, and he always made me melt like butter when he smiled. I fell in love with Joey that very first week, and I didn't even know it. It was the very first air strike that had brought us together. It was early afternoon and all of the nurses were getting ready to serve lunch. That's when we heard the plane zoom across the sky. At first we thought it nothing and kept to our chore.

Then one of the nurses screamed, "Take cover! It's the Japs!" Immediately all of the staff ducked under tables and cots. I was disgusted.

"What about the patients?" I yelled, but no one heard me as the first blow came. I lost my balance and fell to the ground, cussing like and old sailor. Without thinking I got to my feet and headed to the exit my hot headedness reaching its peak.  
"I'm going to give them a piece of my mind. How dare they come here and attack my hospital!" I heard someone call me.

"Hey, little miss hot head," Joey had called form the corner. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Now my anger was redirected.

"Excuse me, gimpy, but did I ask for your opinion?" two could play this game. He surprised me by smiling.

"No, you didn't. Just go ahead and let those japs get to you. Maybe we can be twins." He pointed to his leg which had been shot during combat. He won and I retreated to the makeshift kitchen and finished preparing lunch. That was the first air attack that I had experienced and definitely not the last. Many more came, each and every one of them tested my self control. The air attacks scared my patients and reminded them of being in battle. They were already in enough pain already. Sometimes I would ask Joey what is was like to be a soldier. He would always grow serious with the topic. I didn't like hearing about it but I just had to know.

"You go into to war and think you know it all but you're always wrong. I thought okay get a gun shoot some japs, piece of cake. But there is some much they don't tell you about. War is the most ugly and horrendous thing out there. Everyone thinks they know what its like but they don't know. They don't know what's its like to look your buddy in the eye, right before he takes a bullet, the bullet that was meant for you. They don't know what its like to live knowing you killed more men than you could count on your fingers. They don't know how sometimes the wounded lie amongst rotting corpses for hours calling for help. Sometimes I wonder if they even care." He always stopped too soon and never got to the root of what he meant. Sometimes I saw my little brother in his eyes when he would grow sad. I felt as if we were connected in thought, for we thought so much alike. He left only three months after I had come to the hospital. Being without him gave me discomfort and for the first time in a while I let myself cry. And I admitted that I need someone other than myself.

The next six months passed slowly. The injuries I saw seemed to grow more gruesome everyday. I saw men whose clothes had burned onto there skin. Some men were left without arms legs or even ears. Bullet wounds left gaping holes. All of my uniforms were stained with blood and pus; none of them were white anymore. I couldn't stand the dying. Sometimes, all we could do for our patients was to make comfortable for there journey to heaven. A piece of my heart died with every man that passed away in that hospital.

Whenever I would glance in the mirror I would see a changed girl. I couldn't seem to recognize myself. My hair was the same blonde and my eyes were the same grey, but something had changed. Lines of worry seemed etched onto my skin. I had aged in that hospital. My time as a nurse came to an abrupt end at the nine month mark. Five navy nurses had been captured by the Japanese on an island too near by. We had the evacuate all of our patience's.

When evacuating patients we usually had about five days to prepare, but this time was different. Patients had to be evacuated as soon as possible. All of us wondered whether some of them were strong enough to make the journey. But we had no choice. Time seemed to be zooming out of our hands as the planes touched the ground. The enemy was close. We had to get over seventy injured men into the planes. The air from the planes whipped my clothes around and threw sand into my eyes making them sting. It was very difficult to walk across the uneven ground pushing a wheelchair.

I worried more about the patients than about myself. I wondered were they too cold? Did someone need a fresh bandage? I felt like a hen fluttering around each patient making sure everything was alright. Of course I didn't realize how far I would go.

"Excuse me, do you need anything?" I asked Woody. He had a shot wound to the chest, so I was worried whether he would make it through the flight.

"Yes! Please. Elaine can you get me my satchel. I left it where my cot was. It had the picture of my wife and my baby girl. Please. I need to see them." There was desperation in his eyes. I knew he knew it was near the end. Without even blinking I ran down the ramp leading to the ground and sprinted for the hospital.

I heard people calling me, begging me to come back, "Elaine, what are you doing? Get back here!" but I kept running. I loved Woody as much as any other man I had met and I wanted to make sure I used my best effort to make those last moments' good ones. Woody's bag was exactly where he had put it. I speedily grabbed it and ran for the door, clutching it to my chest. I ran as fast as I could toward the plane. But the ground was so cluttered and uneven that I couldn't help but stumble. Right before I got to the plane I tripped over a large tree root and fell face first. I rose instantly, feeling a bit of stinging on my right side. But I ignored it and didn't stop till I was standing next to Woody.

I stood there watching as he opened the satchel and gingery removed three pictures one by one. The first was of a beautiful woman, her hair dark and face smiling brightly. The second was of a precious baby girl laughing and showing of two pearly white teeth. The third picture was of all three of them, smiling, content. That's how everyone was before the war.

"My wife and I were both eighteen when we married. Her name is Nancy and the baby is Rosy. I've missed them so much. I wish I could be there to walk my girl down the isle. I wish I could grow old and die in my wife's arms. I wish I could die in America where I was born and raised. Not here." Many tears sparkled on his face. He was smiling but his eyes revealed all of his emotions. In his eyes were sorrow, fear, and longing. Woody died only hours later, right after we had touched down on American soil. Once we were home I was rushed to the hospital. I had a long cut on my right side from falling and it was growing an infection. I had had a burning fever and though I would not admit it I could barely stand.

The war soon ended and it was all cause for celebration. But I could not celebrate for so many memories rushed through my head. So many people had died during that war that I had known and come to love, including my dearest brother. My screams of pain echo in my head from the night I was told. George had died a couple of months before I came home. He had been apart of the many soldiers who gave their lives on Omaha beach.

My story doesn't quite end here, but this is a good stopping point. If I went on it would no longer be about war, but about marriage and children. It would be about rebuilding and making memories. I found every survivor I treated in Guam and I keep in close contact. I married the man of my dreams and had many wonderful children. The rest is another story all together for another time as well.


End file.
